


Winter Wonderland

by rivers_bend



Category: British Singers RPF, One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Companionable Snark, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Harry go on a skiing holiday and skip the skiing. (Or the one with porn and wooly jumpers.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply that this ever happened.

There is absolutely nothing sexy about a bloke in a wooly jumper and socks without trousers. At the very least, if one is wearing socks, he should be wearing pants. Except, apparently, if one is Harry Styles, and is padding towards you across ridiculously plush carpet, a mug of something that smells suspiciously of booze and sugar in each hand, cock peeking out from under the hem of said jumper, bobbing a little with the swing of his hips. 

“You look ridiculous,” Nick says, because otherwise he’s going to crawl over and put Harry’s dick in his mouth and probably get hot-toddy scalds for his trouble. 

“I look amazing,” Harry says, cocking a hip and tossing his hair, probably trying to look smug, but managing to look adorable, and, damn him, yes, amazing. 

“You’re wearing socks.”

“That’s what you do on skiing holidays. Wear socks and giant jumpers and drink hot chocolate with whiskey.” 

Not hot toddies then. “I thought you were supposed to ski?” 

“Don’t be stupid. How are we going to spend the day shagging if you go skiing?” Harry puts the mugs down on the coffee table and climbs into Nick’s lap, knees either side of Nick’s hips. That puts his cock between their bellies, between their matching—how did this even happen—bloody Aran jumpers, and there’s a joke about sausage sandwiches in there somewhere, but Harry’s cupping Nick’s jaw in his palms, and it’s a better man than Nick who can think of jokes when Harry Styles is about to kiss him. 

“We—“ Nick says, and then Harry’s tongue is in his mouth. 

Harry is good with his tongue. And his lips. And his other parts, frankly. Much better than Nick was at his age. Of course, Nick was learning moves from the third year who worked behind the bar at the Spotted Dick, whereas Harry’s had his pick of X-Factor contestants and women at their sexual peak. And a lot of practice. Even if it’s not with the people the tabloids keep reporting. 

Fortunately, since he was Harry’s age, Nick has had plenty of practice himself, so it’s no trouble at all to kiss back with all the enthusiasm Harry deserves, and also get a hand down to wrap around Harry’s dick so he doesn’t chafe it on all that wool. “Mmmmm,” Harry says, wiggling his arse in the way Nick has learned means he’s delighted, not that he doesn’t like what Nick’s doing. 

(It was a bit touch and go the first time. Well, okay, the second time. The first time they were so pissed that Harry just rubbed off on Nick’s thigh and fell asleep—but Harry constantly demanding to know why Nick kept stopping soon sorted them out.)

“You should take these off,” Harry murmurs against Nick’s face as he pokes at the waistband of Nick’s jeans. 

“We could get all the way naked. And go to bed. There’s a huge bed right in the next room.” 

“Nah,” Harry says, voice low and rough like he’s trying to be sexy, not like when he’s actually wrecked. “We did that this morning. And last night. You promised cuddles on the sofa this afternoon.” 

Nick had promised cuddles. Silly him, he’d imagined Harry curled up with his head in Nick’s lap, or maybe on his shoulder, while they listened to music and watched the fire, looking like the gay version of one of those naff American Christmas cards in their—Nick glances down. Yep, still ridiculous—matching knitwear and artfully distressed jeans. “This seems more like handjobs,” Nick points out. 

“Your arm’s around me, isn’t it?” Harry says. 

And look. It is. Right around Harry’s waist, the hand at the end of it cupping the top of one glorious naked arsecheek. “How did that happen?” Nick asks. 

Harry grins at him, that fucking wide-open grin he shouldn’t share around as freely as he does, and shifts just enough so Nick’s fingers slip down to curl into his crack. “Mmm,” Harry murmurs, and goes back to trying to suck Nick’s soul out through his mouth. 

There are things Nick wants to tell Harry about kissing like that, about putting yourself out there like you don’t even care if your heart gets broken, but Harry’s bloody distracting, and he hasn’t managed it yet. Besides, it’s becoming increasingly clear that Nick has no intention of breaking Harry’s heart anyway, and if Harry breaks his, well, that’s just something he’ll have to deal with. 

“Do that thing with your fingers,” Harry pulls away to say. Nick isn’t sure what he means, because quite a lot of their sex life involves fingers in some way, especially when their mouths are busy doing other things like kissing. 

Nick squeezes Harry’s cock a little tighter, but that’s obviously not what he means, because Harry reaches back to push the hand Nick has on his ass down so he’s got two fingers rubbing up behind Harry’s balls and the knuckle of his ring finger pressing on Harry’s arsehole. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, doing another, more careful wiggle, “like that.” Then he dives in for another kiss. 

It’s a spectacular, if scratchy, handjob, if Nick does say so himself—which he does—but Nick is distracted by Harry’s mouth and the hands Harry has in his hair, and he manages to get jizz on both their jumpers. Harry, of course, has no problem with this. 

He does, however, have a problem with Nick trying to do something about it. “No,” he says, pout in full force, when Nick tries to pull the jumper off. “Pants off. Jumper on.” 

“I’m not wearing a jumper with socks, Harold. I’m not.” 

“Fine,” Harry agrees. He climbs, far too gracefully for someone who just came that dramatically, off Nick’s lap and starts to divest him of his jeans and pants. As he pulls them off with a flourish, he grabs Nick’s socks too, and everything comes off at once. 

“Blow job, hand job, or do you want to fuck me?” Harry asks. He takes a large gulp of his hot chocolate while he waits for Nick to answer. 

“What am I going to do with you, Harry Styles?” Nick credits the number of times he’s had to say that for his ability to get the words out with Harry’s semi-soft, jizz-streaked cock right there. 

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Harry says, logical bastard. But apparently he’s done waiting, because Harry’s down on his knees, pushing his way between Nick’s thighs. “Blow job,” he answers his own question. 

He reaches for his drink again, and before Nick can protest, has Nick’s cockhead pushing into a mouth half-filled with cocoa. “Ow!” Nick says, but it doesn’t actually hurt. It feels kind of— nice. “No scalding the goods,” he mutters, but the gleam in Harry’s eyes and the way his mouth is quirking around Nick’s dick leads Nick to believe Harry’s not even remotely chastised. 

Nor does he seem sorry when he tries to go down too quickly and dribbles chocolate on the cream sofa and the sleeve of his sweater, and he is so going to pay the cleaning surcharge for that. But then he’s swallowing and doing the thing he does that always makes Nick feel like he’s going to come in seconds instead of minutes, and cleaning surcharges are the last thing on his mind. 

Of course, Nick does have some control, and really likes how Harry looks on his knees with his mouth full, so he lasts long enough to not embarrass himself. (If you ignore the part where he starts babbling about how pretty Harry is and how he’s got the best mouth in England, and Nick wants him to suck his dick forever, but Nick’s getting pretty good at ignoring that part. Besides, a man should never be held responsible for anything he says when his knob’s in another man’s mouth.) 

Nick has both hands fisted in Harry’s mop and is doing his level best to not drag him down and fuck his throat, when Harry slips his mouth off Nick’s cock just in time to ensure maximum spunk spatter. 

“You are a filthy child,” Nick says as Harry wipes jizz off his chin with his left sleeve as he’s patting more into Nick’s hem with his right hand. 

“’S’why you love me,” Harry says. 

“Scamp.” Nick drags him back up onto the sofa, because kissing Harry is the best way to shut him up. Well. Second best, but it’s going to be at least fifteen minutes before Nick can stand Harry’s mouth on his dick again. 

They kiss until Harry’s gone soft and pliant under Nick’s hands, and then Nick tries again to get them out of the rest of their clothes, and suggests a shower.

“Nope.” Harry wraps his legs around Nick’s hips and clings like a bloody barnacle. “Cuddles on the sofa in wooly jumpers. You promised.” 

“Comestains,” Nick tries. 

“You _promised_.”

Nick gives up. Harry is horrible. “You’re horrible,” he says, in case Harry’s forgotten. 

But Harry just says, “I know,” and relaxes his hold a fraction. Just enough he can get some friction against Nick’s hip.

 

An hour later they’re still on the sofa, Harry’s head on Nick’s lap, hair stuck to Nick’s cable knit, and cheek probably glued to Nick’s thigh. There’s a fire in the fireplace and Nick’s mp3 collection on shuffle through hidden speakers, and if they look like a Christmas card, it’s definitely one from the back room of the shop. “Still think we should have gone skiing,” Nick murmurs, tucking a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. 

“No you don’t,” Harry says.

“Pfft,” Nick answers.

There is nothing sexy about dried come pulling at your leg hairs when your boyfriend grins against your leg. Except, apparently, if one’s boyfriend is Harry Styles, with his dimple shining up at you, his naked arse hot under your palm, and his cock just peeking out from under the edge of his jumper. Because that’s sexy enough Nick could almost get it up again. 

~fin

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to littlemousling and isweedan for audiencing and beta duties <3


End file.
